


Hopeless Wanderer

by Cyane (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Branding, Gen, Hurt Sherlock, Protective Mycroft, Sensory Deprivation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cyane
Summary: Mycroft wakes up in a cold, dark, cliche. Normally this would be fine, except this time, his captors were smart/stupid enough to drag Sherlock into this.And they're going to be there for a while, until his agents and Scotland Yard figures out where they are.This would be a hell of a lot easier if Mycroft wasn't blindfolded, tied up, and forced to listen to Sherlock's screams.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, possible triggers. Obviously torture, violence, gore, etc.

Mycroft woke up in a cold, dark, cliche. 

Of course, he was only hypothesizing that he was in a dark cell, because with the blindfold, it was rather hard to tell much of anything. Except for the cold. That was obvious. Someplace up north? It was only barely starting to get cold in central London. 

Inwardly he sighed. The more he got kidnapped, the more his subordinates stopped fearing him. If they had too many chances to save his life, they might get the idea that he _needed_ them or something dreadful like that. He didn't even remember getting taken- last memory he could recall was falling asleep next to the fire. Sherlock had run off on a case some two days prior, and John had been up the wall looking for him.

That daft idiot. He had run off, and John had been worried, causing him to irritate Mycroft to no end- so Mycroft had obviously been forced to stay up for the next few nights, searching for his brother, making sure he was off the source, and that caused him to collapse onto the couch in front of the fireplace. Exhaustion. Sherlock's fault, evidently, seeing as how falling asleep had led to him being captured.

And now he couldn't continue the search. He hoped John Watson was still searching. If Sherlock had returned to drugs, the situation would be ten times worse. Several of Moriarty's henchmen were at large, and without Sherlock to retrieve them...

Damn.

Mycroft twisted his wrists slightly. zip ties, handcuffs, _and_ rope. Paranoid captors, then. Someone who knew who he was. That changed things.

His hands were tied behind his back, and he was strapped tightly to a metal chair. His ankles were also trapped on the chair legs. Well, it seemed as though he would have to wait for Anthea and the rest to get him. He could intimidate them later on, so they stayed in line. 

"Anything in particular you want?" Mycroft drawled. 

There was a shuffling noise. "...Mycroft?"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft exclaimed, bored facade vanishing immediately. "What are... how long have you been here?"

Sherlock seemed to pause. "Few hours? Apparently Moriarty's man, Ivan, knew I was tracking him. Took a few days, but eventually he got me from behind. What about you? Why are you here?"

Mycroft took note of his brother's hoarse voice. They had strangled him, he recognized. "Debatable." Mycroft finally said. "Are you blindfolded?"

"Yes. And obviously you are as well? Interesting."

There was a clang and Mycroft assumed someone else was entering the room. He assumed correctly, because shortly after, Sherlock let out a grunting noise. "Ivan," His brother acknowledged. Probably for his benefit. Ivan laughed. "Glad you've heard of me, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'm a fan, you know. You must be interesting, if Jim liked you."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Enough of this. Is there an actual point to this?"

He could hear the grin in Ivan's voice. "Of course, Mycroft Holmes. Jim told me all about you. You're important, yeah? And you care about your brother."

Sherlock scoffed. "Information? Boring."

"Not _information_ ," Ivan hissed. "I don't care about the government. I cared about _Jim Moriarty_ , and you two took him from me. He told me, you know. That you tortured him."

Mycroft felt his head start to ache. A man with revenge on his mind. Ivan didn't want information, he wanted vengeance, which was much more dangerous for both of them, at the moment. And he had a sinking feeling where this was going. "It was hardly torture," He retorted. "Given that he ignored the pain."

"Well. Then Sherly here can ignore the pain, too, and we'll call it even."

There was a beat of silence before Sherlock inhaled sharply. "Mycroft, don't- GA-!" Sherlock bit down on a scream, feeling white-hot pain going through his neck. 

"What is he doing, Sherlock?!" Mycroft asked immediately, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. He could do nothing but listen as Sherlock let out muffled, agonized noises. 

Sherlock gasped for air. "Burn- back of... neck-"

Ivan laughed. "You tortured my hero, Mycroft Holmes. You and your brother killed him. This is how it felt, knowing that I could do nothing while you hurt him."

"Stop this!" Mycroft snarled. "It won't do anything to bring him back!"

"Nah," Ivan agreed quietly. "But it'll make me feel better." Sherlock let out an ear-piercing shriek at that moment, which was followed with a hissing noise and several bumps. Ivan laughed darkly. "Struggling is only going to prolong this, Mr. Sherlock."

It became a blur, to Mycroft. For the most part, he tried to fall into the deeper parts of his mind and ignore what was happening. He couldn't risk giving away valuable information, and to be honest, he was having a hard time keeping it together. Sherlock's choked gurgled noises. Thrashing, gasping for oxygen. The worst was the screaming, though. Mycroft had rarely heard his brother scream. 

It wasn't just shouting or yelping, either.

Sherlock was _screaming_. 

Eventually his voice became so hoarse that it died completely, and the screams turned into nightmarish hacking noises. Noises that Mycroft was _sure_ weren't supposed to come out of a human body. 

"Enough!" Mycroft finally shouted. "He's had enough! What is it you want?!"

"I already told you. Revenge. It's all part-"

_Bang._

Mycroft instinctively ducked as the shot rang out around the small room. Something dropped dead in front of him. Ivan. It had taken a bit longer than he had anticipated, but it seemed that the Calvary had arrived. 

"Oh, god..."

"John!" Mycroft shot up at the voice. "Get me free, get an ambulance, Sherlock is-"

The blindfold came off. Mycroft's voice cut as he took in the sight of his younger brother. John Watson was hovering over him, applying medical and shouting for more doctors to help him. Greg Lestrade was in front of Mycroft, untying him and breaking him out of the restraints. 

"He's gone, he's dead," Lestrade repeated, like a mantra. Mycroft wondered vacantly who the DI was trying to calm down.

As soon as the handcuffs were off, Mycroft was at Sherlock's side, taking in every inch of damage that he had heard but not seen. 

Massive swelling, bruising. Major blood loss, probably, along with several broken bones. Sherlock's cheekbone was not looking quite right- cracked, Mycroft knew. He was suddenly very, very glad Sherlock was unconscious at last. Although it wouldn't be good with that concussion. Mycroft looked over the long, deep gashes spread over Sherlock's chest. The lobe of his ear was nicked. Three cracked ribs, and there may be a punctured lung, if the blood sputtering out of Sherlock's mouth was anything to go by.

But the worst thing- the very worst, really- was Sherlock's neck. 

As soon as Mycroft and John started lifting him up, it was visible. Huge, bloody blisters covered the back of his neck, smeared with pus. John's horrified gasp was enough. Clearly, Ivan had used a brand. 

_J.M._

And it was permanently seared onto Sherlock's neck. Forever reminding him of Moriarty. 

"Oh, Christ- he branded him," John choked out, feeling for any other injuries. "We need to get him to the hospital _now_ , Mycroft."

Mycroft nodded, trying to rid his mind of the sounds- the screams, the thought of Sherlock's neck. They loaded Sherlock onto the stretcher and he was swiftly whisked away by Mycroft's most trusted agents. 

"You killed Ivan?" He asked, suddenly. He wasn't sure why he asked. Mycroft didn't sound like himself. Probably shock, or something. What a pain, pressure points were. Such a hassle, having them bring out the worst emotions.

John nodded numbly. "I figured Scotland Yard wouldn't mind, after the man became a serial killer, started torturing people, and kidnapped you both. Besides, Lestrade would've done it if I hadn't. You saw how much this has shaken him."

"And it hasn't shaken you?"

John let out a watery, exhausted, relieved snort. "I've lived with Sherlock for years. On my watch, he's been shot over five times, once by my wife and multiple times on cases. We've gone through drug withdrawal. Malnutrition because he _forgot to eat_. Several kidnappings. Several bombings. One fake death. That's just the start of it. We can get through this."

Mycroft took a steady breath and nodded. "Good."

"...has it shaken you?"

Mycroft's eyes widened. " _Me_?"

"Yes, you."

He thought about it for a moment. 

"Perhaps."

John gave him a hard look. "Good," He finally bit out. "It's nice to see you're human."

They walked over to Lestrade, who was staring at Ivan's corpse. 

"Hospital?" Lestrade asked.

"As soon as possible."

**Author's Note:**

> I realize John/Lestrade/Mycroft's reactions were a bit dull, but I'm taking into account that John has already been through hell and back with Sherlock, and they can totally recover from this. Also taking into account that they're all in shock- even Mycroft, although he doesn't admit it- and other reactions will probably happen about later.
> 
> (Anyway.)


End file.
